41. Wild Ivy

I hate wild ivy.  I have said it before, but it is not going away.  I still hate it.  In landscaping work, I am digging up the weeds around a stump.  I don’t want to compost the roots of the wild ivy!  I have to sift through the dirt and buttercups, and find the thick, white, pasta like beginning of my arch nemesis.  

A friend of mine was saying how much she hates Trump, his voice, his face, his actions.  We saw a political sign on our walk.  It said in small print “For God’s Sake” and then in larger font “Anyone but Trump, 2020”.  Hilarious.

I hate wild ivy.  I have said it before, but it is not going away.  I still hate it.  In landscaping work, I am digging up the weeds around a stump. 

Hate isn’t helpful.  I told my friends to try Ho’oponopono.  I am going to give it a shot with my green friends.  I can still rip ’em out of the ground.  DeeDee doesn’t have the same kind of outlet.  Ho’oponopono – I love you, I’m sorry, please forgive me, thank you.

Author: Michele Plumb Stowell

Michele Stowell was a teacher, a hand holder, and encouraging voice. Born an early Gen Xer, she has lived in Western Washington for the duration. Her children, two spectacular genetic daughters and an uncountable number of marvelous scout and school sons and daughters, shine as her biggest impact and her greatest blessing. Just before her 54th birthday, Michele was diagnosed with stage four cancer. Her writing and art work are expressions of the drama and the joy of living earth bound. On October 24, 2021, Michele was released from her physical body, transported to continue her work on other realms. View all posts by Michele Plumb Stowell